Time to Pretend
by Cognitivism
Summary: Ever since her break-up with Finn, Rachel has been acting differently. At first, Santana finds it amusing; but, she soon realises that it might be time to restore the cosmic balance before Rachel does something she's going to regret.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I asked for it for Christmas, but until I wake up with the cast and crew neatly wrapped under my tree, Glee does not belong to me.

**Author's Note(s): **Greetings and salutations. To those who are reading this and know me from my other fic, I'm working on the new chapter. I've been pretty busy though (fun in the sun etc) and I actually wrote this a couple of weeks ago so I thought I'd post it now while I have the chance.

This is set between 'Special Education' and 'A Very Glee Christmas'. I was going to say that it doesn't really fit, but based on the lack of continuity between actual episodes, it's probably realistic that it could happen and just never ever be mentioned again. **Not **a Rachel/Santana pairing (because Brittany and Santana are soul mates). Rated T for swearing.

Hope you enjoy the first chapter out of three.

**Time to Pretend  
**_Chapter One_

_**Present**_

It was a party just like all the others she'd been to in the last year. Same crap, different day. Well, no. Not the _same_ crap exactly. Usually she had Brittany there as a buffer for when things became so unspeakably dull that she felt the need to leave. Although, when Brittany was there, drunkenly dancing to whatever chart music happened to be blasting through the house, things weren't nearly so bad. Brittany was with Artie tonight though. It didn't help that Quinn had already disappeared with her pet Ken doll about ten minutes after they'd arrived; presumably to make-out in front of Quinn's Virgin Mary statues. Well, _whatever_. Unless this party livened up soon, she was leaving. She really just wasn't in the mood for all these asshole jocks leering at her and making suggestive comments in her direction. Though Santana's self proclaimed mantra may have been, 'never say no', there were some times when that was just not the case. A prime example of one of those times could be explained in one simple word; _Karofsky_, who just happened to be ambling towards her. _Absolutely fucking not_.

Santana pushed herself away from the wall she was leaning on and made her way over to Puck, who was already drunkenly stumbling around the house, offering to refill the glasses of every pretty girl within a ten foot radius. Santana wanted to smack him for being such a tool.

"Hey, there, Lopez," he practically shouted at her. She grimaced and took a drink of her beer. "Where's your bitch?"

She felt a surge of anger but pushed it down easily. "I'm talking to him," she retorted with annoyance. "Find me a better drink, douche bag, because this tastes like shit."

Puck held his hands up. "All right, all right. Don't get your panties in a twist."

A bored sigh escaped her lips as he wandered away. She knew full well he had no intention of actually following her instructions and that she'd be stuck with this poor excuse for beer. She would have just taken the girl's who was stood next to her, but she was pretty sure she'd seen one of the hockey players spike it about five minutes ago. It just wasn't worth the risk. Not with Karofsky on the prowl anyway.

Maybe she should just leave, she thought bitterly. She'd showed her face, kept up the rep and all that. Would anybody really notice that she'd gone? Puck, maybe, later on when he was looking for an easy lay. Though she couldn't really place why, she just wasn't in the mood for what would undoubtedly be deeply unsatisfying drunken sex. Puck wasn't exactly at the top of his game by the end of these predictable high school parties.

There was a short lull in the talking around her, but Santana paid no attention to it. The volume quickly went back up again and she found herself glancing surreptitiously down at her watch.

She stood there for another five minutes before something caught her attention. A lot of people seemed to be crowding into the kitchen. Whatever was going on in there must be pretty exciting, Santana thought idly. She made her way forward to see what all the fuss was about; probably some stupid drinking game getting out of hand or something, but when she got there, what she saw made her do an actual double take. Yes, there were two people chugging down a selection of beers, just as she'd predicted. What she hadn't expected, however, was for one of those people to be Rachel Berry.

For a few moments, Santana simply stared at her. There was booze dribbling down her chin and down into her ample cleavage, but Rachel didn't even seem to notice. She was clearly too busy following the instructions of the chanting crowd to _chug, chug, chug_. What the hell did Rachel Berry think she was doing, and why the hell was she dressed like a hooker? These questions and more flew around Santana's brain as she tried to wrap her head around this surprising turn of events. Well, she guessed this made her decision of whether to leave or not. There was no way she was going to miss the opportunity to miss perfect little Miss Berry crash and burn.

_**Four Days Earlier…**_

Brittany sat beside her in Glee Club today. Santana strained to think when that had started to become such a rare occurrence that she had to stop and take note of it. But yes, anyway, there Brittany sat, swinging her legs back and forth as they waited for Mr. Schue and the ever dramatic Rachel Berry to arrive.

"How was your weekend?" asked Santana.

"It was good," said Brittany, her face lighting up with excitement. "Me and Artie went bowling and had Breadsticks."

"Cool," said Santana, feigning interest. Like she cared what Artie had been doing.

Then Brittany frowned a little. "He plays bowling different to you though. He says that you're supposed to knock down the pins in the middle and not try to get the ball in the little ditches at the side."

Santana choked back a laugh. "He's doing it wrong then."

"It wasn't as fun," Brittany said in agreement. "Artie says we can play it our way next time."

Before Santana could reply to this, there was a collective gasp. Her head swivelled around to see what all the commotion was about and she felt her eyebrows contract of their own volition. Rachel Berry had just swanned into the room in clothes that were far from her usual wardrobe. There wasn't an animal in sight on the low-cut dress she was wearing. Puck let out a wolf whistle and Rachel smiled; it didn't quite reach her eyes.

_**Present**_

Santana watched Rachel from afar. She wandered through the party like she'd been doing it her whole life; and Santana knew for a fact she hadn't. Really, she was surprised Berry had even been invited to this one; although she supposed she shouldn't be, what with her recent change of attire. Teenage boys were incredibly fickle, Santana decided. Rachel hadn't even been slushied for the entire week. That had to have been some kind of record for her. Santana had almost been tempted to do it herself just to bring the tiny diva down a peg.

Several boys had forced drinks into Berry's hands as the night wore on, and Santana was certainly enjoying watching the alcohol quickly take effect. Clearly, Rachel Berry was not a person who could hold their liquor. Santana briefly wondered if the girl had ever actually drank in her life; besides the odd glass of wine with a family meal that was.

For one brief and horrifying moment, Santana had thought that the alcohol had taken such effect that Berry was about to burst into song in the middle of the living room. Luckily for her, and disappointingly for Santana, Puck had noticed and swooped in to rescue her from what would have been instant social suicide. Santana was pretty sure there was nothing that a bunch of drunken jocks and cheerleaders would love more than an insane little know-it-all launching into show tunes in the middle of a party. It was a shame, really.

There was a tap on her shoulder and Santana turned around. She stood face to face…well, almost, she had to look down a little bit…with the exact person she'd been watching for almost the entire evening.

"Manhands," said Santana conversationally. "What an unexpected treat."

"Hello, Santana," said Rachel cordially. "I didn't realise you were here."

"This is a party for the jocks and Cheerios," Santana pointed out. "Of course I'm here."

Rachel ignored this and glanced around. "Where's Brittany?"

Oh for fucks sake…Why did everyone keep asking her that? "How the hell should I know?" Santana snapped. "I'm not her babysitter."

"She had a better offer then," said Rachel knowingly. Santana clenched her hands into fists. "I can understand why she would feel compelled to–"

Santana cut her off. "If you don't stop _right now_ I'mma smack you."

A small but mocking smile appeared on Rachel's face. It made Santana feel oddly uneasy.

"Anyway, Santana. I have places to be, so if you'll excuse me…" Rachel said, for all the world as though Santana had dragged her over and forced her to make conversation.

Santana narrowed her eyes at the brunettes retreating back and shook her head in annoyance.

_**Three Days Earlier…**_

By Tuesday morning, the halls of McKinley High School were abuzz with news of Rachel Berry's new look. Even Santana had to admit that the girl was looking a lot better than she had been. A bit over the top, perhaps, but who was she to criticize something like that?

As Santana had suspected would happen, Finn barely took his eyes off Rachel when they were near each other. Though, nor had the majority of the male, and some of the female, population of the school. Santana imagined that had been what Rachel was going for though so it didn't really matter either way. If she wanted Finn back, she was probably going the right way about it. The jealousy route always worked. Well…almost always.

They probably could have all done without Jacob Ben Israel literally trailing Rachel like a puppy and drooling. Ew…the drooling. It was grim, to say the least.

When Quinn commented on the increased level of attention Rachel was getting, there was an undeniable hint of jealousy and anger in her voice. Santana wondered if Sam had been looking at Rachel just a little too closely and that was why Quinn was being so pissy. She'd be lying if she said she actually cared though, so she let those thoughts slip from her mind and decided to focus on more important things; like when she was going to text Puck for a booty call that day.

_**Present**_

Low by Flo Rida began to blast through the speakers and one of the hockey players grabbed Santana and pulled her onto the 'dance floor'. She gritted her teeth in anger at his audacity but decided to play along for the time being. She could beat his ass down later if the mood took her. Besides, he was probably too drunk to even realise who he'd just shoved into the middle of the room with him.

For a while, Santana almost forgot how unhappy she was. The lights were dim and bodies pressed obscenely against each other, gyrating to the rhythm of the song. The air smelt like beer and sweat and Santana allowed herself to get caught up in the drama of it all. She'd certainly have preferred to have been dancing with someone else. Someone else in particular, actually, but she pushed those thoughts from her mind and focused on the guy in front of her. He was hot, at least.

That was when something caught her eye and she frowned a little. Rachel was dancing not far off with Azimio. _Azimio_ for Christ sake. It wasn't innocent dancing either based on the way Rachel was provocatively draping herself in the boy's arms. Santana felt an unexpected twinge of nausea at the lecherous smile on Azimio's face and she recalled quickly several instances where she'd seen the guy force himself onto an array of unsuspecting girls. In the end, he almost always got shot down so it was okay. Santana wasn't sure if Rachel was in any fit state to do that though. Wait…why did she even care? No. She didn't care. She was just…surprised, was all.

She continued to dance, but couldn't help from keeping her eye on Rachel.

Azimio whispered something in the girl's ear and she laughed loudly. Santana grimaced. No way had anything that had come from that Neanderthal's mouth been _that_ entertaining. She never thought she'd see the day when Rachel Streisand Berry threw herself quite so disgustingly at a boy. But then again, Rachel had done a lot of things this week that Santana had never expected.

_**Two Days Earlier…**_

It wasn't until Glee on Wednesday that Santana realised that it wasn't just her clothes that Rachel had decided to change.

"So, who wants the solo on this one?" said Mr. Schue, clapping his hands together with enthusiasm. Santana resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Seriously, how could any one person be _that_ peppy all the freaking time? It was just unnatural.

Everyone looked expectantly at Rachel, but she hadn't moved. Instead, she was staring at her nails intently and wielding a lethal looking nail file in one hand.

"Rachel?" Mr. Schue prompted.

"Hmm?" said Rachel, looking up with a neutral expression on her face.

Mr. Schue looked taken aback. He recovered quickly. "Do you want the lead on this one?"

"What are we singing?" asked Rachel. Everybody exchanged shocked expressions.

"Er…Seasons of Love," said Schue, a confused look on his face.

Rachel shrugged. "I guess."

It was the shortest answer Santana had ever heard her give to a question.

_**Present**_

Santana watched with utter revulsion as Azimio's hands moved down to rest on Berry's ass. It was just gross. It was almost as gross as the way he had her pressed up against the wall, pushing his tongue down her throat. As it turned out, watching Rachel pretending to be someone she wasn't was just not as fun as Santana had thought it would be.

"Hey, babe," said a voice next to her.

She turned her head and forced a smile at Puck.

"Hey, Puckerman," she said reluctantly. "Having a good night?"

"You know I am, babe," he said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. "I know how we could make it even better though."

"I–" Then she stopped. Azimio was leading Rachel by the arm from the room. There was no doubt in Santana's mind where they were going and why. Santana felt a sudden and unexpected conflict of emotions. This would be a big step for Rachel. Like…really big. Santana had always been convinced that all Rachel needed to lighten up a bit was to get laid…but not like this. Drunk and with _Azimio Adams_, of all people.

A sigh escaped Santana's lips. She'd be the first to admit that her moral compass didn't exactly point due north, but even she knew she couldn't let this happen.

"Hey, Lopez?" said Puck, a confused frown on his face. Santana pushed past her and stormed to the hall where she knew Berry would be. She seriously couldn't believe she was about to do this.

Azimio and Rachel were clumsily making their way to the stairs, their lips pressed together. It was enough to make Santana want to vomit. She rushed forward and grabbed Berry's arm, dragging her backwards.

"Back the fuck off, Adams," said Santana furiously. The look on Rachel's face switched from one of confusion to anger.

"What the hell are you doing, Santana?" she demanded. Santana ignored her.

"Chill out, Lopez," said Azimio, swaying a little. "We were just gonna have a little fun."

"Well, you're not now," said Santana, pushing Rachel backwards again.

"Santana! Get out of my way," said Rachel, her words slurred together horribly and Santana pulled a face.

"Trust me, Manhands. This is for your own good."

"You can join in if that's what's bothering you," said Azimio. He raised his eyebrows suggestively and Santana fought back a wave of revulsion. "I can take two of you at once."

The look on Rachel's face reverted back to a little confusion, but she still seemed hell-bent on throwing herself into bed with the douche.

"Seriously, you need to get out of my sight before I tell every single person at this party that you're HIV positive," said Santana harshly. The boy's eyes narrowed, but there was also a hint of fear in them. He knew she would make good on her threat and then he'd never be having sex again.

"What the fuck ever, Lopez," he said, turning around and storming back towards the main party.

"What is the meaning of this, Santana?" Rachel demanded when Azimio disappeared from sight. Or at least she tried to. It came out more like a series of muffled squeaks and sounds.

_**One Day Earlier…**_

"What the hell are you even doing, Rachel?" Finn yelled at the top of his voice. Santana leaned back against her locker with an ill-concealed grin on her face. This ought to be good.

"I think it was obvious what I was doing," Rachel remarked, rolling her eyes.

Santana had to agree with her there. There was little mistaking what had been taking place while that random hockey player lip-locked with the hobbit.

"This isn't like you," said Finn angrily.

With a shrug of her shoulders, Rachel turned away. "Why do you care?"

That took the wind out of his sails for a minute. "Because I'm your friend."

Rachel nodded dispassionately. "Whatever, Finn. It's frankly, none of your business anymore."

"It is my business! We're supposed to be co-captains and this new attitude is not good for the Glee club," said Finn. He looked close to punching a wall. _Wrong answer, Finn_, thought Santana.

There was a dangerous flash in Rachel's eyes. It took her a moment to regain control and then she shrugged her shoulders. "So what? It's only Glee."

The two fell silent. And it went on. And on. Santana almost moved to leave.

"I don't even know who you are anymore," said Finn, his eyes dark and his voice low. Then he turned around and stormed away, leaving a disinterested looking Rachel behind him. Santana was pretty sure that only she saw the brief look of hurt in Rachel's eyes.

_**Present**_

"Stop fighting me, Berry," Santana huffed as she bodily dragged her down the hall and towards the front door.

"Stop man-handling me, Santana!" Rachel retorted, squirming as a blast of cold hit the two from the now open front door. Santana ignored her and then gestured to the street.

"Out," she ordered.

"You can't kick me out! This is not your party," argued Rachel, still trying to pull her arm from Santana's grasp.

"I'm not kicking you out, Berry," said Santana, giving the small girl a firm push out the door. "I'm taking you home before you do something you regret."

Rachel folded her arms in a huff but allowed Santana to steer her to her car.

"Okay," said Santana once they were both sat down and seat belted. "Where do your dads think you are now?"

"Kurt's house for a sleepover," Rachel snapped.

Santana sighed. Couldn't take her home then. Especially not in this state. But then again, did she really care if Berry got in trouble with her parents? Not especially. Then she glanced over at the miserable brunette next to her and felt an unexpected pang of sympathy. Right. Fine then.

"Okay, Manhands. You can sleep at my house tonight."

* * *

**Author's Note(s):** Thank you for reading :-)


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **See Chapter One.

**Author's Note(s):** Thank you to everyone who read the last chapter :-) Hope you enjoy part two.

**Time to Pretend  
**_Chapter Two_

The car journey was, in a word, awkward. Rachel sat with her arms folded and huffed dramatically every two minutes or so, presumably to make sure that Santana was aware of how angry she was. Santana, for her part, was too busy focussing on the road in front of her. She had perhaps had a little too much to drink to be driving. Oh well, she thought, it was late and she had yet to see a single other car on the road so she figured she'd be fine. Besides, if she crashed and ridded the world of one Rachel Berry, it wouldn't be the worst thing. Wouldn't be the _best_ thing either, of course, Santana mentally added. She wasn't a sociopath or anything.

"I want to go back to the party," said Rachel after a while. Somehow, she didn't quite sound like she meant it. Santana rolled her eyes and wondered who Rachel was trying to convince.

When they finally got to Santana's street, she suppressed a sigh of relief. They pulled up the drive to Santana's house and a mildly awed look crossed Rachel's face. Then she seemed to remember that she was supposed to be angry and her scowl returned.

Santana got out of the car and walked around to Rachel's side and pulled the door open.

"Get out the car," said Santana.

"No."

"_Get out the car_," Santana repeated, this time grabbing Rachel's arm and bodily pulling her out the door. Rachel shrieked in terror and fell straight onto the ground. She moaned pathetically and Santana shook her head with disgust. This was even worse than she'd thought it was going to be.

Santana bent down and gripped Rachel's upper arm. "Berry," she said, "If you don't get up _right now_, I'm leaving you out here in the rain. All night."

With another disorientated groan, Rachel allowed Santana to pull her to her feet and then together they staggered into the house. It took four attempts for Santana to get the front door open and then close it again successfully behind her.

"Rachel!" Santana all but shouted as the girl slumped against her for the third time. "Will you fucking _walk_? I'm not carrying you up the stairs."

"I'm not fat," grumbled Rachel as she tried to straighten up again. Santana rolled her eyes. If possible, drunk-Rachel Berry was even more annoying that sober-Rachel Berry. Apparently, Santana's long standing opinion that people would be more relaxed if they just got laid and got drunk could not be used as a sweeping generalisation anymore. She was going to have to rethink some things.

One crash into the wall and two almost disasters later, Santana finally reached the door to her own bedroom and thrust Rachel inside. Surprisingly, the girl managed to maintain her balance and quickly took stock of where she was.

"This is your bedroom," said Rachel slowly. Santana pulled a face and nodded. "Why did you bring me here?"

"I already told you," said Santana impatiently. "Now shut the fuck up and go to sleep."

Rachel swayed alarmingly on the spot and Santana darted forward and caught her before she hit the floor again. Rachel looked down consideringly at the hands around her waist and then back up to Santana's face.

"You took Finn's virginity," said Rachel thoughtfully. Santana suddenly felt deeply uneasy.

"So what, Berry?" she said, releasing the girl and steering her over the bed.

Rachel sat down and continued to stare at Santana. It was unnerving to say the least.

"Why did you do it?" Rachel whispered. "You could have had anyone."

Oh good God…this was seriously not a conversation Santana wanted to be having.

"You're right," she said finally. "I could have had anyone, so to become head cheerleader, I chose to have the quarterback of the football team."

"You ruined my life so you could be the head cheerleader?" said Rachel through narrowed eyes.

"Sure did," said Santana, kneeling down to take off Rachel's shoes. She wasn't letting that hobbit sleep in her bed with dirty stilettos on.

"You're an awful person," said Rachel simply. "And I hate you."

Try as she might to ignore it, Rachel's words hurt. "Yeah," said Santana softly.

There was a pause as Santana finally wrestled the tiny shoes from Rachel's feet and flung them unceremoniously across the room. She stood up and mentally congratulated herself on a job well done.

As Santana moved to leave, Rachel stood up and grabbed hold of her wrist.

"What the hell is it now?" asked Santana, wrenching her hand away.

For a moment, Rachel just stared at her hazily and Santana wondered if she were about to pass out. Then, Rachel launched herself forward.

"What the f–" But Santana was cut off when Rachel's lips crashed into hers and the two toppled to the ground.

Santana groaned in pain as her back hit the floor but Rachel's lips found hers again and she thrust her tongue into Santana's mouth. It took a moment for Santana to regain her senses, but when she did she cried out in fury and pushed Rachel off to the side with as much strength as she could muster.

"Get the hell off me!" Santana shrieked, scrambling away from Rachel, who was now lying on the floor and breathing very heavily. "What the fuck are you doing?"

A look of hurt flashed across Rachel's face and she unsteadily pushed herself to her feet. "Come on, Santana. This is what you do, right? You're the school slut."

Santana was speechless.

"You took Finn's virginity," said Rachel, her words slurring together. "Why not take mine too and complete the set?"

"You can't possibly be serious," said Santana, also rising to her feet. "That's gross on so many levels."

"Oh, please," said Rachel with disgust. "Everyone knows you'll have sex with anything with a pulse. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if I'm the only person in Glee club you haven't tried it on with by now."

Her mouth opened and closed of its own accord as Santana processed Rachel's words.

"That's not…"

"And it's not like you haven't had sex with girls before," Rachel pressed on. "You think it isn't obvious that you and Brittany have been sleeping together for over a year?"

"I'm not having sex with Brittany." _Anymore_.

"I suppose it's not really sex," said Rachel, her eyes taking on an unfamiliar glint of something that Santana couldn't quite pinpoint. "Brittany's mental acuity is similar to that of a young child, after all." Santana felt a surge of anger. "I don't suppose it could ever be considered truly consensual with a girl who has the mental age of approximately seven years old."

Santana's hands instinctively clenched into fists and she fought the urge to punch Berry square in the face. _She's drunk and upset, don't hurt her_, said a voice in Santana's head that sounded suspiciously like Brittany's.

"I imagine that isn't happening anymore, though," said Rachel coldly. "Now that she's with Artie, you're extra curricular activities have probably been brought to a standstill. Unless you decide to ruin that relationship too. I wouldn't put it past you."

"If you don't stop talking now I swear to God…"

"It must be killing you to see Brittany so happy with someone else," said Rachel, looking suddenly more cheerful, as though she'd realised something important. "Someone who actually cares about her that is."

"I care about Brittany," said Santana before she could stop herself.

Rachel shot her a pitying look and Santana felt her anger boil over to new heights.

"You don't care about anybody but yourself," said Rachel, her voice cold. "So stop your incessant whining and fuck me."

Santana was so shocked that for one very brief second, she actually considered doing as she was told. Blood pounded in her ears and rage coursed through her veins. Maybe it would be a good way to let her aggression go without anybody getting too hurt. But then she remembered who she was talking to and the fact that she _isn't gay_.

"Go to hell, Berry," said Santana, forcing her breathing into a more steady rhythm.

"I am in hell," said Rachel with a dismissive shrug of her shoulders.

_Don't ask, you don't care. _"What are you moaning about now? Still on your break up with Finnocence, are we?" said Santana. Damn it. "Get over it."

"He doesn't want me anymore," said Rachel. Somehow, there were tears in her eyes now and Santana mentally cursed herself. Why hadn't she just left stupid Berry at the stupid party and gone home when she'd wanted to? Bloody drunken mood swings. Like Berry's rapidly changing mood wasn't bad enough at the best of times. It was why she was grateful that Brittany and Puck were always horny drunks. Made life far easier.

"I'm frankly surprised he ever wanted you," said Santana, glancing down at her nails.

A loud sob escaped Rachel's mouth and Santana cringed.

"Nobody wants me," said Rachel, her voice shook with sorrow and Santana _almost_ felt a little bit sorry for her.

"Oh, boo hoo," said Santana bitterly.

"Not even Puck would sleep with me," said Rachel, then she buried her face in her hands. Santana looked at her in surprise.

"Seriously? Puck said 'no' to sex?" she asked, unable to keep the shock from her voice.

Rachel nodded. "He said he didn't want to hurt Finn again."

"You aren't with Finn anymore," Santana pointed out. Why hadn't Puck told her about this?

"I was at the time," said Rachel quietly. A slow grin spread across Santana's face.

"Tut tut, Berry," she said with amusement.

Tears were flowing now, leaving dark tracks of mascara down Rachel's face. Santana grimaced at the thought of any of it getting onto her pillows.

"I don't understand why nobody wants me," said Rachel miserably. "I couldn't even get the two biggest sluts in the school to sleep with me."

"Maybe it's because you keep calling them a slut," said Santana, throwing her arms up in exasperation.

"I thought…I thought if I could be different maybe things would change," said Rachel, ignoring Santana's words. "I want things to change."

"And you thought changing your clothes and pretending you don't care about anything was the way to go?" asked Santana, actually a little interested in the answer.

"It works for you."

A long silence followed this statement and Santana felt her mouth drop open. Rachel glared at her with challenge in her eyes. Seriously? Was that what Rachel had been doing? Trying to be more like her?

"What the hell are you talking about, Berry?" she settled on saying.

"You walk around in that tiny skirt and people notice you," said Rachel, her voice mournful. "You are a bitch to everyone, even people who are supposed to be your friends, and they still follow you around like you're the best thing since Barbra and Judy decided to sing a duet. Why is everything so easy for you? You don't deserve to be happy."

_Happy_? "I don't know–"

"You told the entire Glee club that you slept with Finn _just_ to ruin my life. There was nothing in it for you. You only did it to hurt me. And him," said Rachel. She was staring into Santana's eyes now, like she was looking for an answer. "And what happened? Mr. Schuester rewarded you with a solo at Sectionals."

Then in a smaller voice, Rachel added, "I thought if I could be like you then maybe things would be easier."

Santana pursed her lips. "And how is that working out for you?"

"It was fine until you dragged me out of that party," Rachel suddenly yelled.

"Right," said Santana, rolling her eyes as she did so. "Whatever."

Rachel opened her mouth again, presumably to shout some more, then a strange look passed over her face and she clamped her hand over it. Her face went deathly pale and a look of panic flashed in her eyes. Ew.

"Do _not_ be sick on my bed," Santana demanded, lunging forward and grabbing Rachel's shoulders. She pushed her roughly forward and into the adjoining bathroom. Rachel fell to her knees with a painful thud in front of the toilet and whimpered pathetically before violently throwing up the contents of her stomach. Santana grimaced in disgust but dutifully held back Rachel's hair from her face with one hand and used the other to keep the smaller girl from falling over. Oh, what she did for Glee Club.

Tears were running down Rachel's face again as she coughed and spluttered while Santana resisted the urge to shout again. As if this day could have got any worse. She was not cleaning up vomit in the morning if Berry missed the toilet. Seriously, why was she being punished in this way?

"I think I'm okay now," said Rachel quietly after a moment. Santana nodded and then helped her move backwards to sit against the wall before flushing the chain and moving to open a window.

"You should take a shower or something," said Santana, wrinkling her nose in displeasure. "You smell like a distillery."

Rachel nodded but made no effort to move. Santana closed her eyes and mentally counted to ten. When she opened them again, Berry was trying, and failing, to take her top off. It was potentially the most pitiful thing Santana had ever seen.

"Just…stop," said Santana, holding a hand up to the girl. Rachel let her hands fall to her sides and she gazed up at Santana nervously. Oh what fresh hell…

She sighed and moved over to her shower and switched it on. Having used it thousands of times before, it only took her twenty seconds to get the temperature just right, yet by the time she turned back Rachel was drooling and looked half asleep. Great. Just great.

"Get up, Berry," said Santana loudly. Rachel jumped and struggled to her feet. "Arms up," Santana ordered, and then with not a little difficulty, she pulled Rachel's dress over her head and looked away with disgust. Literally, worst night ever. She then steered Rachel over to the bath and helped her into it and ushered her under the cascading water. Rachel shuddered as the water hit her and she sat down and curled herself up into a ball.

Deciding it was safe to leave her there for a couple of minutes, Santana left the room and went in search of some clothes that might actually fit the girl. In the end she decided on some sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt that her mother had inexplicably chosen to give her for her birthday last year. Santana looked down at it and sighed, allowing the tiredness to hit her for the first time that night. As much as she loathed the very sight of Rachel Berry, if she hadn't been there it wasn't like Santana would have been doing anything better. Probably just sleeping. Alone.

She steeled herself and made her way back into the bathroom, where Rachel seemed to have regained some function and was massaging shampoo into her hair. Santana fought back the urge to tell her off for using so much of it (that shampoo was expensive) and just placed the clothes in a small pile on her washing basket. She then fetched a towel from her cupboard and put that on top of them.

"I'll be outside if you need me," said Santana instinctively. She'd done this with Brittany quite a few times. "There's a spare toothbrush in the cupboard under the sink." Rachel didn't reply but Santana assumed she'd heard and moved back into her bedroom and closed the door behind her.

Honestly, out of everyone in the entire world that could be in her bedroom late on a Friday night, Rachel Berry came somewhere near the bottom, along with Dick Cheney and Gary Glitter. What kind of bizarre cosmic retribution was this? Was this because she'd told Rachel about her and Finn? Because the girl needed to know, even if it perhaps wasn't necessary for it to have been blurted out in such a public fashion.

Santana sat down in front of her dressing table and sighed deeply. Okay, so maybe Rachel's downward spiral into what Santana could only imagine was a deep depression, was a little bit her fault. Maybe it was her job to fix it just a little bit. Besides, this new wardrobe of Rachel's was taking attention away from where it rightly belonged, which was of course on Santana.

Santana looked at herself in the mirror and picked up some cotton wool and carefully began to remove the make-up she'd put on earlier. The removal of her foundation made the bags under her eyes worryingly obvious and Santana frowned at her reflection. Must do something about that later, she thought. Sue would kill her if she was anything less than pristine come Monday. She stood back up and moved to her wardrobe to change her clothes.

The water in the next room was turned off and Santana listened intently to Rachel clamber out of the bath. _Don't fall_, she thought hopelessly. It was hard to tell whether looking after a drunk or an injured Rachel would be worse. Thankfully, there were no suspicious sounding bangs so Santana went back to getting changed while Berry dried herself and got dressed in the next room.

Then the door creaked open and Santana turned her head and watched Rachel walk towards her with a rather guilty and awkward look on her face. She seemed steadier than before and her eyes were marginally less glazed. Alcohol wearing off a little, Santana thought gratefully.

"Um…" said Rachel, casting her eyes around the room.

Santana held up a silencing hand and then pointed to her dressing table. "There's a hair drier there if you need it. If not, go the hell to sleep and stop bothering me. I'm going downstairs."

With that Santana stalked from the room, leaving a bewildered Rachel behind her.

* * *

**Author's Note(s): **Thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **See Chapter One.

**Author's Note(s): **Aloha. Once again, thank you to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter. It makes writing more fun knowing that people are enjoying the story. Also, I know I said three chapters at the beginning, but apparently I inadvertently lied. Hope you enjoy Chapter 3.

**Time to Pretend  
**_Chapter Three_

When Rachel awoke, the first thing she became aware of was the interminable pounding in her head. She groaned into her pillow and then rolled on her back, attempting to pry her eyes open. Why did her tongue feel like it had grown fur? Ew. As she fought back the desire to slam her eyes shut at the blinding light that was flooding her vision, Rachel suddenly realised that she wasn't in her own bed. These were not her cream walls and red bedspread. Where was her Wicked poster? This room looked nothing like hers. Panic bubbled over as she sat bolt upright and tried to work out where she was, and more importantly, why.

"Oh God…" she mumbled to herself as the events from the previous night came screaming back to her. _Please let this be a dream. A horrible, awful, ghastly dream. _Seriously, out of everyone she could have ended up going home with, did it _have_ to be the person who was going to enjoy her misery the most?

About a minute passed of Rachel praying for a miracle, she unhappily had to accept that, at least for the time being, she was not going to wake up from the horrendous situation she currently found herself in. She looked at the old fashioned alarm clock on the table next to the bed and frowned as she realised it was only six o clock in the morning. Can't go home yet then, she thought despondently.

Her eyes drifted over the side of the clock, where a glass of water and two white pills sat. Rachel practically jumped towards them and threw the pills in her mouth before downing the entire glass. Then a horrible thought crossed her mind…Santana wouldn't poison her, right? That was just aspirin… Her thoughts went spiralling down into a myriad of horrible ideas about what Santana might have just given her. _No_, she thought to herself firmly. If Santana had wanted to hurt her than she would have done it last night when Rachel was…unable to defend herself.

A yawn took over and Rachel lay back down in the bed. Oh well. She could worry about it later.

* * *

The second time Rachel woke up, the dull throbbing in her head wasn't nearly as debilitating as it had been the first time. It also didn't take her as long to work out where she was. She bit back a sob of despair and rolled over to face the clock again. Half past eleven this time. Rachel felt her eyes widen in shock. She was confident that she hadn't slept past eight o clock since she had turned eleven years old.

Next to the clock, the glass of water had been refilled and Santana had placed another two tablets on the cabinet. For a moment, Rachel considered not taking them…just in case…but a particularly painful stab of pain in her head quickly changed her mind. Maybe sweet death would be preferable to her current state anyway. Though she had never experienced one before, she firmly believed that this was what one called, 'a hangover'. Her dads were going to kill her when they found out about this.

Rationally, Rachel knew that there was no way that the pills would work so soon, but a mere couple of minutes after she'd taken them, the placebo effect kicked in and she felt marginally better. It was probably time to try and get up.

The way her body ached so exhaustingly was a completely new experience for Rachel, and she didn't like it one bit. Resolving to soldier on however, she rolled herself to the end of the bed and determinedly swung her legs around so she was in an upright position. Okay, she told herself, phase one complete. Now to stand up. _Owww_…

That's it, Rachel thought, _I'm never drinking again_.

As she quickly steadied herself on the wall, she considered going straight to find her reluctant hostess. She had, however, been afforded a rare opportunity to snoop around Santana Lopez's bedroom. It's what any sane person would do, Rachel reasoned as she wandered over to the dressing table and took note of multitude of beauty products lying around haphazardly.

Around the large mirror above it, Santana had stuck several pictures. Rachel was both surprised and pleased to note that two of them were of the Glee club. The rest of them seemed to be of varying combinations of Santana, Brittany and Quinn, as well as one of all the Cheerios. There was one of Santana and Puck too. Rachel smiled a little at a particular strip of photos that looked like it had been taken in the photo booth at the music store down the road; Brittany and Santana were doing a variety of silly poses in them.

Once she had finished searching Santana's dresser, she moved over to the desk, which appeared to be kept in a much more organised state. In the left hand corner was a small Christmas tree that she seemed to have decorated with some old looking origami animals and shapes. It was the kind of childish display that Rachel would never have expected of Santana. If she was going to decorate for the Christmas season at all, Rachel would have thought it would be with designer tinsel and diamond studded pompom baubles.

The second thing on the desk that caught her eye was a photo frame that had been placed facedown. Rachel spun it around with one finger and strained to read the message on the back which seemed to have written in pencil.

_- S_

_See, I told you that you were prettier when you smiled properly._

_Love, B xxx_

_Brittany_, Rachel guessed as she picked up the photograph and stood it up. A small smile crossed her face as she took in details of the image. Santana was smiling toothily, her eyes sparkling with laughter, while Brittany had her lips pressed to her cheek. Honestly, it was the happiest she'd ever seen the cheerleader look. She wondered why it had been knocked over.

After that, the rest of the room was fairly boring. It contained a widescreen TV, and a small bookcase that seemed to house more DVD's than reading material. Though she was content to examine all the things on display, Rachel drew the line and rooting through Santana's draws and so she finally decided that it was time to stop snooping and go and face the music; so to speak. Ow…even just thinking about music made her head throb.

She exited the bedroom and made her way to the staircase. It was getting on, so Santana would probably already be up by now. Then Rachel remembered the refilled glass next to her bed which confirmed her suspicions.

As she stood at the bottom of the staircase, she glanced around nervously. She could see the front door…and also lots of other doors. She looked around and then spotted a one that was slightly ajar and crept towards it. It opened soundlessly when Rachel pressed lightly and she took a silent step inside.

Santana was lying on her back on a large, plush sofa. Rachel couldn't actually see her head, but she could see her feet propped up on the arm at the far end. She stood on her tiptoes and could just make out the top of a book that seemed to be in Santana's hand. The sound of a page being turned filled the room and Rachel frowned a little.

"Are you just going to stand there and leer at me, Manhands, or do you actually have something to say?" said Santana suddenly. Rachel flinched at the sound and took the final few steps forward so she was stood in Santana's visual range.

"Um…" said Rachel nervously; her eyes flicked around the room while she searched for something to say. "You…What…" Her voice sounded dry and strange. "Hi, Santana."

Santana quirked an eyebrow at her but said nothing. Right. She wasn't going to make this easy then, Rachel thought helplessly.

"Um…thank you," said Rachel quietly. Then she frowned. "I think. I don't…I'm not sure if I remember exactly what…or why I'm here…"

"Are you _actually_ struggling for words?" said Santana with mock confusion. "I thought your verbosity was hotwired into that proportionally tiny mind of yours from birth."

Rachel blanched as Santana's piercing voice cut through her head. Oh good lord…she was seriously not up for this kind of conversation. A sigh escaped Santana's mouth and she placed her book down on the floor and pushed herself up into a sitting position.

"How do you feel?" she asked. Rachel's eyes widened in surprise.

"Erm…better than I did the first time I woke up, thank you for asking," she replied after a moments thought. "Still not quite up to my usual self though."

A grin spread across Santana's face and she nodded slyly. "I'll bet. I think you drank your bodyweight in vodka."

…Had she? She seriously didn't remember. Rachel settled on an awkward nod in response.

"You don't remember, do you?" said Santana, her grin getting even wider.

Rachel debated lying just to wipe the stupid smirk off Santana's face, but before she could she instead blurted out. "No! I keep seeing flashes of some very non-sequitur events but I'm struggling to piece everything together."

"What do you remember then?" asked Santana, she crossed her legs gestured to the sofa opposite her. Rachel took it as an invitation and gratefully sat down. She wasn't sure how much longer she'd have been able to hold up her bodyweight anyway. Right now, all she wanted was to curl up in bed and pretend this had never happened.

"I…got invited to a party," said Rachel, her mood plummeting even more as she thought about the sequence of events. "Because…" she trailed off. "Because one of the football players said I'd look hot in a dress with a beer in my hand." Her eyes closed and she fought off tears of shame.

"They were obviously delusional," Santana remarked; Rachel flinched but knew there was no point in refuting Santana's words. She was probably right anyway. "Then what?"

Rachel swallowed hard against the lump in her throat and forced her eyes open. It was probably just her imagination, but Santana's face seemed to soften a little as a stray tear made its way down Rachel's face.

"I remember dancing," said Rachel. Then a wave of revulsion hit her as a particular memory sprang to the forefront of her mind. "Oh God…with Azimio. I danced…with Azimio."

"Not all you tried to do," Santana muttered, but Rachel heard her and looked up in horror as further memories made themselves known to her.

A small whimper escaped Rachel's lips and she buried her face in her hands.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," Rachel whispered.

"I could make a list if you'd like," said Santana, though she didn't really sound like she meant it.

"Thank you for stopping me," said Rachel, looking up again at Santana.

Santana shrugged her shoulders. "I only stopped it because the idea of it all made me want to vomit."

"Well, thank you anyway," said Rachel honestly. Despite her callous tone, Rachel was confident that hadn't been the only reason that Santana had saved her from almost certain lifelong suffering and regret.

There was an awkward pause and Rachel leaned back in her chair a little.

"What else do you remember?" said Santana finally. "Do you remember what happened when we got back here?" Her expression darkened and Rachel frowned.

"Not really…the next thing I remember is being in the shower," Rachel admitted.

Santana made a disbelieving noise. "How very convenient," she said, pressing her mouth into a grim line.

"Not really," said Rachel with confusion.

"How about I illuminate you then," said Santana, anger slipping into her voice. "After kicking off because I 'dragged' you away from all that _fun_ you were having with Azimio, you called me a slut and then basically tried to rape me!"

"What on earth are you talking about?" said Rachel in horror. Then her face fell as more flashes of memory assaulted her senses. "Oh my God…"

"I'll 'oh my God' _you_ in a minute, Manhands!"

"I'm so sorry…" said Rachel. Her mind was working a million miles a minute as everything came screaming back to her. Oh God…had she really said those things about Brittany… "I am _really_ sorry."

"Yeah, well, I'm fresh out of sweet forgiveness today," said Santana bitterly. "And if you ever touch me again, I will be forced to surgically remove your hands. And don't think I can't. I watched my dad perform several amputations as a child."

Disturbing revelation aside, despite her words, Rachel didn't really think it was the whole…kissing thing (oh God) that Santana was angry about, so much as the things that had been said while it was happening. Rachel bowed her head in shame. She never had wanted to lower herself to…well…Santana's level of making people feel awful about themselves.

"I didn't mean any of it," said Rachel quietly.

A humourless smile crossed Santana's face. "You meant every word of it."

"I didn't!" Rachel protested. Okay, so maybe she'd meant _some_ of it…that was hardly the point. She was going to be the better person here.

"Whatever, Berry. I really don't care," said Santana dismissively.

When she thought about it, Rachel honestly didn't know what had come over her. She didn't even like Santana as a person, let alone being attracted to her in any way shape or form. She really needed to plan who she was going to throw herself at when drunk better next time. Not that there would be a next time, she thought as she noted a particularly stubborn ache in her left temple.

"Is it true that you slept with Finn to be the head cheerleader?" asked Rachel, choosing to ignore the way her voice cracked. She certainly hoped it had cracked with emotion, because if alcohol had damaged her voice in any way she was going to sue the vodka company. Her fathers knew some excellent lawyers.

"Is it true that you tried to cheat on him with Puck?" Santana shot back.

"I just…I wanted to make him feel as bad as I felt," said Rachel quietly. "I thought it would make me feel better."

"In my experience, sex with Puck rarely makes anything better," Santana muttered.

Rachel looked at Santana curiously. Something in the girl's tone caught her attention. If she didn't know any better, she'd have said it was sadness.

"Have you tried telling him that?" asked Rachel. "I think I heard him telling one of the Cheerios that once he cured a girl of cancer with a session of 'passionate love-making from the Puckster'."

Santana snorted. "Would you believe that's not the worst pickup line I've heard him use?"

"Yes," said Rachel seriously.

"I once saw him drunkenly hit on Mr. Schue's ex-wife in Walmart," said Santana with an almost fond smile. "How much does a polar bear weigh?"

"Um…" said Rachel, rather confused. "I don't know."

"Enough to break the ice," replied Santana with a mocking grin. "Why he thought that would work, is beyond me."

Rachel would have laughed if she hadn't known how much it would hurt. "What did she do?"

"She didn't really get the joke and just patted him on the head and wandered away with a dazed look on her face. I don't think that one's all quite there," said Santana thoughtfully.

"She did pretend to be pregnant," Rachel pointed out.

"Definitely not all there, then," Santana agreed. Then she seemed to remember who she was talking to and her scowl returned. Rachel sighed; she thought she'd actually made a bit of progress. But then again, come Monday she was going to revert back to her plan of not caring, wasn't she? That was what she'd decided last week.

"Um…" said Rachel. What was going on? She never 'um'ed and 'er'ed. Why did people like drinking? It obviously did no good for one's mental facilities.

Santana pulled a face. "You know what?"

"Wha–"

"I'm hungry. Are you hungry?" said Santana unexpectedly. "I could definitely eat."

Rachel thought about this for moment. She wasn't actually sure if what she was feeling was nausea or hunger. Santana grinned at her.

"I'll make some breakfast. You'll feel better after it. I promise," she said, jumping to her feet and taking off in what Rachel imagined was the direction of the kitchen. She hesitated only briefly before much less energetically pushing herself to her feet and following.

* * *

**Author's Note(s): **Thank you for reading :-)


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **See Chapter One.

**Author's Note(s): **HAPPY NEW YEAR! May the best of your past be the worst of your future.

Thank you to those who read and reviewed the last chapter :-) I hope you enjoy the extra-long Chapter 4!

**Time to Pretend  
**_Chapter Four_

"Do you like eggs?" said Santana as Rachel entered the kitchen.

"I'm a vegan," Rachel pointed out, sitting down at the small breakfast table. Santana looked over her shoulder at her with an incredulous look on her face.

"You're so weird," she said, before putting the box she was holding back in the fridge. She glanced around the room with a thoughtful expression before sighing and taking some clear plastic containers from the fridge and then taking the fruit bowl from the table Rachel was sat on.

"This is the worst post-night-out breakfast ever, by the way," said Santana as she chopped up pieces of banana and put them into two separate bowls.

"I wouldn't really know," said Rachel, eyeing the knife Santana was holding wearily. She could still recall the earlier amputation threat and didn't want to take any chances.

For a while, the two girls remained quiet. It wasn't as awkward as Rachel thought it could have been though, so she sat back and tried to relax a little as Santana cut up a pineapple with what appeared to be practiced ease. Banana and pineapple was a bit of a weird mix, but Rachel didn't mind. She also knew better than to comment about it to Santana and not expect some kind of swift and painful retribution.

"Do your dad's know where you are?" asked Santana as she pulled out two forks from one of the numerous draws.

Rachel felt her heart sink. "No…I didn't bring my cell phone either. They're going to be so worried…"

"Use the house phone," said Santana, gesturing to the door. "There's one in the hall."

With a grateful nod, Rachel stood up and went in search of the phone. As she had been told, there was one just outside the door and she expertly dialled her home number. Her father picked up on the first ring.

"Hi, Daddy," said Rachel nervously. There was a deep sigh of relief and Rachel squirmed with guilt. After the first greetings followed a very awkward conversation in which Rachel lied more to her parents than she had ever done before. She told her dads where she was and promised she'd be home soon and that everything was okay. As she put the phone down, she licked her lips anxiously before making her way back into the kitchen. Though she felt awful about lying, she could kind of see why people liked it. She felt a certain thrill knowing she'd got away with it.

Santana was sat at the table, clearly having eavesdropped on her entire conversation, with an amused smirk on her face. Rachel tried to ignore it and sat down opposite her and picked up the fork that had been placed in front of her chair.

"Thanks," said Rachel, as she put a piece of mango in her mouth. Santana nodded but said nothing as the two began to eat.

"So," said Santana a few minutes later, pushing her still half full bowl away from herself. "Do you want to finish rehashing last night so you can scurry on home to daddy and daddy?"

"Can't I just go home now, please?" asked Rachel tentatively.

A look of annoyance crossed Santana's face. "You make it sound like I'm keeping you prisoner or something. You can leave if you want to. I just thought you'd want to know what happened when you were drooling on my bedroom floor."

Rachel flinched at the harshness of her tone. She _did_ want to know what had happened, but she wasn't sure how long she and Santana could stay in the same room without something awful happening to her. But, Santana had made her breakfast. Maybe it wouldn't be too bad; even if her companion did currently seem to be suffering from a severe case of bipolar disorder.

"Sorry," said Rachel quietly.

"Whatever, Manhands," said Santana, looking away in disgust.

Rachel bit her lip and watched Santana tap her foot rapidly against the table leg. In anyone else, Rachel would have said it was a clear, outward display of nervousness. She was fairly confident that Santana didn't feel such mortal emotions as nervousness though. Still, she wondered what was going through Santana's mind.

"What are you thinking?" asked Rachel before she could stop herself.

Santana's eyes flashed dangerously and Rachel had to fight off the urge to get up and run while she still had the chance. But no, she thought. _I will valiantly brave whatever is coming_.

"Do you really want to know?" asked Santana, a frighteningly cold look in her eyes. Rachel nodded. "I'm thinking about how much I hate you."

Rationally, Rachel already knew this. It didn't stop her heart from clenching painfully at the cruel words. "Why?" asked Rachel, her voice quivering.

Santana suddenly launched her fork at the wall and Rachel jumped as it clattered loudly to the floor. For one brief, horrifying second, Rachel though that Santana was going to attack her; instead, the girl took in a deep breath and buried her face in her hands. Rachel's naturally instinct to comfort people who were upset kicked in, but she studiously ignored it, knowing that it would do no good whatsoever.

Finally, Santana raised her and looked straight into Rachel's eyes. "Do you know how hard it is for me to try to be nice to you? I'm trying really hard now, because yeah, maybe some of this is my fault. Just so you know."

This was Santana trying to be nice to her? _Really_?

"I hate you because you're obnoxious, conceited and hypocritical, and _yes, I do know what that word means_," Santana began. Rachel felt her heart break a little with every single word. "Yeah, so you might have more talent than the rest of us, but you're incredibly aware of it and use every opportunity you can to rub everyone's faces in it."

"I don't mean to," said Rachel, bowing her head and letting the sting of social and personal rejection wash over her.

"I hate you because you talk the talk about being fair but only seem to actually care when it's _you_ people aren't being fair to," Santana rambled. Rachel frowned, it kind of sounded like Santana was referring to one incident in particular. "But most of all, I hate that you are whoever you want to be and don't give a damn about it."

Wait…what?

"What do you mean?" asked Rachel, confusion colouring her voice.

Santana's hands twitched and Rachel readied herself to run. "You've gone through high school doing whatever the hell you wanted to. You're smart, talented and you aren't scared to let everyone know exactly what you're feeling and thinking."

"Why is that a bad thing?" said Rachel. She felt like understanding was floating just out of her grasp and she grimaced in frustration.

"Why don't _you_ tell _me_?" replied Santana, sitting back and looking thankfully calmer. If Rachel wasn't feeling quite so fragile, she would have been greatly intrigue by the obvious internal battle that Santana was currently fighting.

"I don't know to what you're referring," said Rachel, feeling a little nauseous all of a sudden. She did.

"You want to know what you said to me last night?" said Santana. _No_. "You said that you decided that life was easier for me, and that's why you've been acting out since Monday. You've been trying to imitate _me_ to get people to like you more."

Tears welled up in Rachel's eyes and she dropped her head so Santana couldn't see her face. "I was…lying," she lied.

"No you weren't," snapped Santana. "I mean, _seriously_. What the hell are you even playing at?"

"I thought–"

"No, you didn't!" Santana said loudly. "Come on, Berry. If you paid attention to anyone other than yourself you'd see what a bad idea that is."

"You seem happy enough," said Rachel weakly. But then she thought about it and realised that maybe that wasn't entirely true.

Santana let out a harsh laugh. "Do you want to know why I've been so annoyed with you since the wedding?" Rachel nodded, but wasn't sure if she actually did. "It was because you didn't invite me to the Glee girls meeting."

Rachel's head shot up in astonishment. Had she heard that right?

"I mean, _really_? The people you wanted to defend Kurt were Wheels, Twinkle Toes and Lady Lips? I'm way more badass than all of them combined, and Kurt is my friend too," said Santana, hurt seeping into her voice for the first time. "So, not only was I ignored in the first place, but when I offered to help, all I got was some snide remarks about how I'm alone and told to go away."

"I'm sor–"

"Save it. Not interested," said Santana shortly. "My point is, do you know what happened afterwards? Nothing. Not even Brittany cared that I might have been a little upset about being excluded. Because people expect me not to give a damn. And I'm pretty sure that even if they did, they still wouldn't care."

"But you know what? As annoying as you are. _Constantly_. Nobody _pretends_ to like you. It's me they pretend to like. People like you and they respect you. And it's because you're _you_, no matter what anyone says," said Santana. "Until now, that is."

A few tears ran down Rachel's face as she stared down at the tabletop in shame and despair. She didn't think she could have felt any worse than she had done at the beginning of the week. Obviously, she was wrong.

"Just…sort yourself out, Berry," Santana said, her voice sounding completely normal again. "The only people getting anything out of this new persona of yours are people like Jacob Ben Israel; and that's gross on…many levels."

A small sob clawed its way from Rachel's throat and unable to support her weight, she let her forehead rest on the table and brought up her arms to block Santana's view of her. She'd been so stupid. Rationally, she'd known that her new façade wouldn't change anything, but she had still clung to the hopeless idea that it might. Like a child. What had her dads thought when she'd left the house every morning in various states of basic undress? They hadn't said anything but she'd seen the worry and confusion in their eyes.

She continued to cry for what felt like an age, before she felt a warm hand gripping her shoulder and steadying her incessant trembling. She dimly noted that she never would have cried like this before in front of Santana. Was it the alcohol still coursing through her system causing her complete lack of self control?

"Calm down, Berry," said Santana's voice awkwardly. "You'll make yourself sick again."

Rachel nodded a little and accepted the piece of kitchen roll that Santana had pressed into her hand. She wiped her face with the rough material and slowly her tears began to subside. She really didn't want to cry anymore. Sometimes she felt like it was all she did.

"I'm sorry," said Rachel, though her voice was still muffled with tears.

"What for?" asked Santana. Rachel didn't know how to answer.

"For being an inconvenience," she finally settled on.

Santana pursed her lips and nodded. For a moment, Rachel simply watched her reluctant companion. She still seemed annoyed about something, so Rachel replayed the conversation they'd just had in her head.

Oh…

So caught up she had been in thinking about her own problems, she'd completely ignored what Santana had said about herself. She immediately felt inordinately guilty. _Not even Brittany cared, _in particular caught her attention. Because Brittany usually would have cared. But now she didn't. Rachel suddenly remembered the picture on Santana's desk that had been knocked over and felt an unexpected wave of sadness.

"I'm sorry," Rachel repeated, her voice earnest and her eyes wide. Santana seemed startled and her gaze fell to the ground. "No, really. Santana, I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"You didn't hurt me," replied Santana stiffly. She _had_. "Besides," she said in a quieter voice, "I deserved it."

Rachel felt her heart sink as she watched Santana scrape her finger against the grain of the wooden table with a look of intense concentration on her face. Like she was desperately trying to think of something else. Anything else.

"I think we have more in common than you think," said Rachel softly. Santana scowled but apparently decided not to reply. "Why did you decide to end mine and Finn's epic romance?"

Santana visibly flinched, much to Rachel's surprise. "I didn't mean to. I was just so…angry. It just slipped out."

"Why were you angry?" said Rachel with a frown.

Santana sighed but didn't reply.

"Santana…"

"There's only so many times you can hear words to the effect of 'she's not worth it' before it starts to bring you down, okay?" said Santana finally. Then she sighed and her next words sounded like they physically hurt her to say. "I think I was just tired of being the only one who was alone."

A tense pause followed this revelation and Rachel bit her lip. "Mercedes is alone."

"She has Kurt," Santana pointed out.

"You have Brittany," replied Rachel.

Santana smiled bitterly. "Do I?"

Rachel let out a slow breath and thought back to Glee club. She noted how rare it had become for the two cheerleaders to sit together; Brittany usually sitting beside Artie and Santana choosing to sit at the back, alone. Or maybe not choosing, so much as having no other choice.

At Rachel's thoughtful expression, Santana tapped nervously on the table a couple of times. "She's never really had a proper boyfriend before," she said evenly. "I think she really likes him."

"Artie is a good person," said Rachel before she could stop herself. Suddenly, Santana's scowl was back and it seemed to occur to her who she was actually talking to.

"Whatever, Berry. Like I care," she snapped.

Despite the harsh tone and drawn together features, Santana's tone lacked its usual venom. She just sounded tired, and for some reason that made Rachel smile. Maybe Santana was just human after all (and not the blood sucking alien monster that she and Finn believed her to be).

There was a long pause. Then, "Do you think that maybe…_we_ could be friends?" Rachel suggested tentatively.

"What?" asked Santana incredulously. "We hate each other."

"I don't hate you," said Rachel, her voice soft. To her own surprise, she meant it. As much as she had wanted to hate Santana, she just couldn't bring herself to. "I hate the way you treat me sometimes," she corrected, "But I don't hate _you_."

Santana had the good grace to look a little guilty. "I suppose I don't…entirely…hate you either. Sometimes. Like…really rarely."

"I know," said Rachel, with the first genuine smile she'd displayed in over a week. "Or else you wouldn't have rescued me from the near disaster, comparable to the likes of the war in Vietnam and Mariah Carey's film debut, Glitter, that was _last night_."

Santana made an odd huffing noise and then stared at Rachel thoughtfully.

"What would…_being friends…_" she said the words slowly as though she couldn't quite wrap her head around them, "entail, exactly?"

"Um…" said Rachel. "Maybe we could start by you…not throwing slushies at me?"

A smirk crossed Santana's face. "Noted."

"And maybe I could promise to include you more in Glee," said Rachel. She still felt bad about the Glee girls meeting incident. Santana said nothing. "We could maybe…um…" there she was, 'um'ing again. Why was she so nervous? "…We could maybe talk to each other; not necessarily only in Glee?"

"I'm not sure if I can manage that," said Santana. Rachel shot her a hurt look, but then noticed the hint of amusement in her eyes and she felt a small smile cross her face.

"It will be a challenge for both of us," said Rachel seriously.

"What would we talk about?" asked Santana. She put her elbows on the table and then rested her chin in her propped up hands.

Good question…

"We could talk about whatever we wanted to," said Rachel vaguely.

Santana nodded and pulled a face. "Okay. So, we're gonna be friends now, are we?"

"That seems to be the case," said Rachel in agreement. Any minute she expected to wake up. This was far too surreal.

"Good," said Santana, relief evident in her voice. "As my first act as your friend, I want to tell you right now to take everything out of your wardrobe as soon as possible and burn it. Especially anything and everything with an animal theme."

Rachel folded her arms. "Is this your idea of being nice?"

"You didn't say anything about being nice," Santana pointed out.

"It was implied," said Rachel huffily. Santana rolled her eyes.

"Fine," she said. "What do _you_ want to talk about then?"

Rachel looked down and tried to ignore the obvious thoughts that flashed instantly through her head. Instead, she said in a small voice, "I don't know. Maybe Glee?"

Santana laughed humourlessly. "I though we were friends, Ber-_Rachel_," she said, correcting herself with obvious difficulty. "You're lying to me already?"

A guilty smile crossed Rachel's face and she swallowed against the lump building in her throat. _No more crying_, she told herself sternly.

"Finnocence will come around eventually," said Santana. Rachel was relieved she hadn't forced her to actually say it.

"I don't think he will," replied Rachel, her voice sounding fragile and weak even to her own ears. "I think he hates me."

"Of course he doesn't hate you," said Santana, rolling her eyes. "He's just upset. And confused. And some of those other emotions people feel when their girlfriend tries to cheat on them with the guy who their last girlfriend cheated on them with and then went on to give birth to his bastard child."

Rachel wrinkled her nose with a little confusion. "Okay. How long do you think he's going to stay mad for?"

"Hard to say," said Santana with a shrug. "Finn and I aren't exactly BFFs. A bit longer though, I guess."

"Okay," said Rachel sadly.

"What I do know though," Santana continued, "Is that you aren't going to win him back by changing your personality. Especially to one like mine," she then added as an afterthought. "It's _you_ he fell in love with. I'm just the girl who coerced him into a motel room."

Naturally, Rachel already knew this. It didn't hurt to be actually told it though. Finn loved her and nobody else. She sighed dramatically, suddenly feeling a bit more like herself. "I know. You're right."

"I'm always right," said Santana dismissively. She leaned back in her chair and began to examine her nails critically.

"What do you think I should do?" asked Rachel. Santana pursed her lips in annoyance and Rachel could clearly see that all the 'being nice' she was trying to do was incredibly difficult for her. She wondered how many sarcastic comments and insults Santana had bit back since the beginning of the conversation.

"Just do what you would have done before," she finally said with a shrug. "Sing him a song or something. You like doing stuff like that, right?"

"I'm going to be a Broadway star," said Rachel, shooting Santana a withering look which was steadfastly ignored. "Of _course_ I like to sing to people."

"I'd never have guessed," said Santana dryly.

Rachel sighed dramatically. "You'll regret this taunting when I have the staring role in Chicago and refuse to send you tickets."

"I daresay I'll survive," Santana remarked.

After that, Rachel pushed past her hangover and explained to Santana in great detail why she would indeed live to regret her dismissal of Rachel's gratuitous talent. Santana had looked decidedly unimpressed for the most part, but every now and again, her mouth would quirk upwards in a clear sign of amusement, so Rachel ploughed on. Santana's customary annoyance was much easier to watch than her uncharacteristic display of emotion anyway. Honestly, Rachel didn't understand how she hadn't noticed Santana's disquiet earlier. She was typically _excellent_ at reading people. Her mild psychic abilities helped with that usually.

Eventually, the conversation drew to a halt and Rachel glanced nervously at the clock. It was almost two o clock and she could really do with getting home.

"I'll give you a lift," said Santana, seeing where Rachel's gaze was.

"You don't have to," said Rachel awkwardly. "I can call my dads."

"It's okay. Better than reading The Great Gatsby anyway," said Santana. She stood up and picked up a pen off one of the kitchen counters and then wandered over to the fridge and began to write something on the small notepad there.

"Okay. Thanks," said Rachel. She still felt like she was just getting in the way.

Santana finished whatever it was she was doing, ripped off the top piece of paper from the notepad she was writing on, and then picked up a set of car keys that were hanging from a hook on the wall. Rachel rose to her feet and followed Santana into the hall.

Santana paused and turned around. "What do you want to do about your clothes?

"Can I come back and get them tomorrow when I feel like the sight of them won't send me down into another spiral of nausea?" asked Rachel, only partially joking. Santana nodded. "I'll bring these back then too," she added, gesturing down at herself.

"Okay," said Santana. Then a sly grin crossed her face. "Do you think you can walk to the car this time, or am I going to have to carry you again?"

Rachel cringed as a distinct memory of lolling on the floor outside Santana's house flashed into her head. "I think I'll manage," she said weakly.

"I'll believe it when I see it," said Santana, now making her way to the front door. Rachel scurried to follow and almost walked into Santana's back when she stopped in front of her.

Santana turned around with an awkward look on her face and then thrust the piece of paper she was holding into Rachel's hand. She looked down in confusion.

"It's my phone number," said Santana. "My real one."

"The phone number I have isn't real?" asked Rachel, her eyes narrowing.

"Not important," said Santana airily. "But yeah. That's my cell number. Call me, you know…if you need me. Or even if you don't."

Rachel was touched by the gesture; she smiled brightly, which Santana weakly returned, and then pocketed the piece of paper. "Thank you, Santana."

"Yeah, yeah," she replied, rolling her eyes. "Whatever. Don't make a big deal about it."

The smile stayed plastered on Rachel's face as Santana led her out of the house and to her car.

Maybe things would start to get better after all.

* * *

**Author's Note(s): **Thank you for reading, and Happy New Year, again!


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